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The Blooming Evergreen.
I
Ere the adventurers, nicknamed Plantagenet,Buckled the helm on, their foes to dismay,
They pluck'd a broom-sprig which they wore as a badge in it,
Meaning thereby they would sweep them away.
95
Green as the laurels their chivalry won;
As the broom-sprig excited those heroes to glory,
May the gorse-plant encourage our foxes to run.
II
Held by Diana in due estimation,Bedeck with a gorse-flower the goddess's shrine;
Throughout the wide range of this blooming creation,
It has but one rival, and that one the vine.
Pluck me then, Bacchus, a cluster and, squeezing it,
Pour the red juice till the goblet o'erflows;
Then in the joy of my heart, will I, seizing it,
Drink to the land where this Evergreen grows.
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